A Scarlet Apple
by Nitrospira
Summary: A tempestuous girl named Faith finds her growing feelings for a strange, white-haired man to be entirely unsettling. Especially when she realizes that he is - quite literally - coldblooded.


**Disclaimer: Aradien does not own Fruits Basket. {Insert witty remark about how she wishes she owned all the men here}.**

x. A Scarlet Apple .x

~ Aradien ~

**Author's Note: **For the sake of all things good and wholesome, I'm changing Ayame's (and thus Shigure's) age to 24. It makes my job a bit less daunting.

…..

_**NOT a High School Girl**_

A hurried mother, already donned in her elegant business suit, was making dire attempts to awaken her daughter.

"Faith! Wake _up_!" she instructed yet again, shaking the girl with added vigor. The windows had been turned open some time ago, light glimmered dully on the languid hand and blonde hair dripping from the mattress.

"Why are you waking me up?" she finally grumbled, turning under her blankets so that she faced away from the window. "You and dad are going to one of those pagan balls…"

"Business meeting, Faith. And _you,_" she poked her emphatically on the arm, causing the girl to whimper pathetically. "Are walking your little brother to school."

At this announcement, the girl jerked upright. "When was _this_ decided?"

"Four weeks ago, two days after we were told that we had to stay in Japan for a month. Now, quite stalling and get dressed."

"You couldn't remind me sometime before now?"

"We discussed this at breakfast yesterday."

"Allowing me plenty of time to forget."

"Then we went to collect the books he needed to loan from the school."

Faith grumbled as a form of response. The truth was not one she wanted to know.

"And I vividly recollect kissing you goodnight while stating, 'Don't forget that you have to take your brother to school tomorrow'."

Faith raised a conspicuous brow. "What ever happened to the typical, 'Nighty-night, don't let the bedbugs bite'?" She renewed her wanton grumbling as she slinked out of bed, unwillingly rubbing sleep out of her blue-gray eyes.

Her mother smiled coyly, kissing her softly on the cheek. "Your brother's waiting in the kitchen." She mumbled against her skin, causing Faith to hiss angrily, "I hope he's in the mood for a bit of track practice."

…..

"Faster, Chris, faster!" she called over her shoulder, faintly registering the heat between her legs caused by the friction of her brown corduroys or the fact that her button-down white shirt was clinging to her.

A boy in his early teens was breathlessly trying to keep pace with her. Already, his usually puffy black hair was hanging at ear length and occasionally dripped with sweat.

Overall, his testosterone could not compare to his older sister's long legs.

"Faith…fate…" he croaked, meaning to say 'wait' yet falling prey to consonance. "I… can't… feel… my feet…"

Flicking back a lock of her long black hair, she briskly sauntered to where her brother was feebly attempting to retain consciousness. "Was I… going _that _fast?" she asked with concern etched onto the gentle slopes of her face.

Chris nodded, breathing hard. His back was bent and his hands were gripping his knees.

"Damn, why didn't you tell me!" cried Faith. A few passerbys whispered to themselves as they strolled by, yet she took no notice. "I just didn't want you to be late!"

_Which is just _slightly _my fault in the first place_… she thought with a halfhearted mental chuckle.

"I…tried… but you went… whoosh!" he gesticulated, his voice becoming a bit stronger as the oxygen in his body was gradually replenished." How much… farther?" he asked with mingled dread and hope. Faith smiled at this inquest.

"Well, I have good news!" she said giddily, pointing beyond the hedges they had been walking – or rather, sprinting – along for the past few minutes. "We're a short jog away from the entrance…"

Something glinted in Chris's brown eyes. With speed she had thought impossible for him to exude, he darted nimbly, desperately rather, through the hedges. Faith pursued him across the school lawn yet found that she herself was suddenly out of breath.

"Don't forget that I'm coming to pick you up!" she hollered after him before collapsing on a bench. Being who she was, she did not take notice of whether or not the bench in question was occupied or not. So when the back of her head encountered a particularly cushiony surface instead of concrete the instinctive reaction of most nineteen-year-old females would be to become all but hysterical. Faith Gadstrom didn't even open her eyes.

"Aya-san!" a male voice somewhere in the vicinity moaned. "That's just not _fair_! No high school girl has ever done that to _me_!"

"Now, now, Gure-san." A voice just above her intoned. "You simply have to understand that women are no longer attracted to mere _novelists_… this one, for example, is in need of someone who can open her eyes to true passion. One who can–" He was silenced, quite abruptly, by a merciless slap.

She wrenched herself up, using the momentum to swing herself from the bench. A murderous gleam filling her eyes, she turned to the man who had spoken last. Her rage dissipated in a matter of seconds.

His hair. Blanched and long.

His eyes. Effulgent and golden.

Perfunctorily composing herself, she managed to hint annoyance as she murmured, "I am _not _a high school girl."


End file.
